


Words to be unspoken.

by kingofthe_nightvoid



Category: Marvel
Genre: Angst, Arguments, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other, X-Men comicverse - Freeform, X-men - Freeform, character exploration, mild manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 00:35:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofthe_nightvoid/pseuds/kingofthe_nightvoid
Summary: A small exploration into an interpretation of Fantomex and Genesis’ relationship.





	Words to be unspoken.

Paranoia  
Noun  
1: mental illness characterized by systematized delusions of persecution or grandeur usually without hallucinations.  
2: a tendency on the part of an individual or group toward excessive or irrational suspiciousness and distrustfulness of others.

Paranoia was something Evan Sabahnur often felt. Was it nature or nurture? One could never be sure. But wasn't that just the issue? Nature or nurture; the whole premise of Evan's existence. An experiment, unexplained, not mentioned to anyone until it was too late; take the blood of the dead child form of mega-super-bad-horrible-no-good villain En Sabah Nur, (“No one liked En Sabah Nur! But everyone loves Evan! Evan's that hope that we can all be better. That no matter where we come from, no matter how bad it was or what people expect us to be—nurture can beat nature”. Thanks Wade.), put it in a pocket world simulation and try to raise it, to find out if how a child is raised determines their outcome, if predisposed to something horrible. He was often paranoid that there was someone looking at his thoughts, waiting for him to think something out of line, something that'll make his friends turn against him, do what so many of the others had already advocated to do. He was (mostly) safe so far. The sixteen year old was also paranoid that he would become the man he was 'meant to be', but he begged to differ. After the inversion, where he'd thought he'd lost the few people he had...Evan was usually worried about a lot of things, even if he pretended to be happy, because nobody wants to see Apocalypse upset, right?

Therefore, when Evan felt someone behind him, sense the mind of someone behind him, he couldn't helping feeling a little squirmy. Or was it minds...? That was strange. He'd pulled his headphones down, and nonetheless he could only hear one set of footsteps. One pair of feet, three minds. This newly developed telepathy was a damn strange thing. But...he couldn't actually get in the minds, which was even weirder. Civilians didn't usually have mental blocks. Hm. Looking up, the boy set his gaze on the alley that led to his house. Well, the safehouse Wade had put him up in. If he could just make it there, he'd be fine, right?

One step, two step, three step. Evan counted in his head, worrying on his dark blue lips as he walked, resisting a light jog.

“Excusez-moi? Monsieur Sabahnur?” The cocky voice beckoned. It wasn't harsh, or inherently malicious, it was just...waiting. Anticipating something maybe. Possibly even soft. The voice was also muffled, to a degree, which added something to it, another layer of...familiarity?

Evan froze, a breath feeling like it'd become stuck in his throat. That voice...  
“Uncle Cluster...?” The boy murmured, letting out a shaking breath as he turned on his heels. This couldn't be right, could it? He blinked a few times, the man in white blinked right back. Evan cocked his head to the side, the man in white copied in return. “It...no...they...it.” Taking a few juddering breaths out, Genesis looked the figure in front of him over, taking in a few sharp breaths in a similar manner to the ones he exhaled. “You're not real.” Evan said adamantly, rubbing at his eyes. They stung with tears. Stomach acid burned the back of his throat, his rucksack felt like it held the contents of the world, his head swam. This couldn't be real.

“Now, now, Evan. C'mon, don't be like that, mon fiston.” Jean-Phillipe said, following up with an exaggerated, “I’m hurt, son.” He said, the exaggeration making the fake French accent gripe at Evan furthermore. It used to be comfort, it used to represent something fun; on the farm ‘uncle Cluster’ would come and they’d play baseball in the wheat fields, they’d talk, until his ma called them in for dinner. Uncle Charlie Cluster never stayed for dinner. Evan never saw his face. But that was okay, that was...normal. That was Evan’s normal. But it wasn’t, it wasn’t normal, none of the previous fourteen years had been normal, they hadn’t been real. This wasn’t real. What was real? What was true? How could Evan know? This isn’t-

“Stop it!” Evan blurted out, fisting a hand in his curly mop of hair. The boy Fantomex knew had changed. He had a temper? That’d never do. The jacket he wore didn’t look like his own, his hair wasn’t straight anymore, he looked like a real sixteen year old boy. Not the scared shell that this man had last dealt with. “You’re not real! This...you were dead.” He started, starting to gesticulate with one of his hands, the other hand resting on the back of his neck, fingers digging in a little. “Y-You were dead, and an-and then you weren’t, there was three! Three of you! Somethin’ happened, and y’all made three of you, one of them was a lady, and then...they died? And so did you!” Evan was shaking, his whole body was shaking as he tried to work this out. For every step forward the man took, Evan took nearly a whole two steps back. He was nearly flush against a wall now.

“I’m real, Evan. Here in the flesh. I’d never leave my boy behind, not permanently.” Weapon XIII said, moving his long jacket back as he set his hands on his hips, exposing the guns in his holsters. Of course he came loaded. “There was...but not anymore. I dealt with them,” he took a couple of steps forward, Evan didn’t move this time, he was too scared to. Charlie has something commanding about him that very few could dispute. “Cher, it’s me, Uncle Cluster. I’d never hurt you.” He lied. 

Silence could break a man’s heart. Painful silence could shatter even the strongest of us. Yet as the boy before Fantomex bowed his head and large, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, he began to smile—maybe even grin behind the mask. Pressing his palms to his eyes, he tried to halt the tears, to no avail. “‘M sorry.” A small voice spoke up, heavy with tears, southern accent thick. Covering his face, the lines marking Evan’s cheeks were nearly invisible.

Fantomex hesitated, a rare occurrence, before pulling his ‘son’ into a hug. He’d grown, therefore instead of it being a near chest level hug from the man, Evan’s head now came to his shoulder, simply because it was bowed. Genesis didn’t move, his hands didn’t move away from his face. He may as well have been a statue as he was embraced, the ceramic of the man’s helmet making a shifting sort of clink against his shoulder. “I never left you, fiston. I just did what I had to do. I have you now, you’re safe.” He hushed as the teen hiccuped a little. “You don’t have to pretend to be someone else anymore.” He added, messing a gloved hand through the vulnerable boy’s curly hair. 

Evan stiffened a little, the familiar warmth, the familiar smell of...nothing turning sour. The touch made his skin tingle in all the wrong ways. Despite this, he let Charlie continue talking. “We can get you real clothes,” He said, pinching at Quentin’s hoodie. “We can be a real family again, cherié.”

Silence.

“Run away with me to Paris.” 

That seemed to be the line for the young mutant. He squirmed a little. “Get off me.” He whispered, voice strangled. “Get off me, *please*.” This time, the silence came from Cluster. Setting his jaw, Evan moved some more, giving himself some leverage before pushing the man a little, just enough so he loosened his grip, allowing Evan to move, stumbling somewhat and falling, scraping the side of his face against the wall he’d been flush against. That earned a small hiss from the boy, from pure shock, followed by varying pitches of ‘bleep’ as he got up, brushing himself down, noting the dirt he’d gotten on the side of Quentin’s hoodie. He really hoped he wouldn’t be mad.

“I don’t trust you,” the ex-student began, pulling his jackets straight, putting his bag on correctly. “I’m sorry.” He added, as if it were some automatic response. “This is one big yeehaw! I don’t like this!” He said, his voice raising in pitch but not volume, obviously choking away more tears. 

“Mon ami, I know whats good for you.” Fantomex said softly, setting both hands on Evan’s shoulders. “Run away with me to Paris.” He repeated. “A new life.” Gently, he set two fingers under the clone’s chin, tilting his head up to look at him, then running his thumb in arches over one of the boy’s cheeks. Softly, he carried on. “I’ve missed you, son, you don’t have to lose anyone else. Who do you really have here? Who can’t you really live without? It’s just little old me.” He murmured.

Evan was sure he could feel his heartbeat shaking his whole body, yet his limbs felt like concrete as he was pulled into the moment, instinctive longing for an identity, for creature comforts nearly winning. However, a surprise to both of them, he then jolted his head away. “I don’t *need* you! I have Wade, and Nathan, and Bobby, Hell, I even have Quentin now!” Pulling himself back completely from the man, he blinked in quick succession, trying to rid himself of the horrible feeling he got from eye contact as he continued, not sure where this was all coming from. “I have a boyfriend, uncle Cluster, I love him. I have a family, and they love me. They’re real, unlike anything...anything you ever gave to me.” A momentary pause. “I know you tried, you did what you deemed best, but I never wanted any of this!” More tears, but the boy didn’t seem to notice as he clenched his fists repeatedly, trying to keep himself grounded. “You lied to me. Time and time again, y’all lied and lied, and now I don’t know what’s real.”

“Evan,” the commanding voice started, a hand habitually resting on his gun. Evan often forgot uncle Charlie wasn’t a human being. He was a weapon. A cyborg. “Calm down.” He instructed. “Your mother never liked it when you cried, son.” He all but purred, French drawl making him seem constantly so appealing.

“She wasn’t real!” Evan cried. “She wasn’t real, da-dad wasn’t real, my life wasn’t real! For so long. It’s somethin’ you have to admit!” Sucking in a breath, he continued, seemingly on a roll. “You lied! I protected you! I got hurt for you, I nearly died for you,” When did he begin jabbing an accusing finger at Cluster? “I lied for you. I loved you! I mourned you!” He sobbed, the anger he always subdued screaming at him, his body wanting to do more than just scream. 

Hold on. When did he start shouting at the astounded man?

And so Evan continued, a solid minute or so of this; the overwhelmed young hero letting out every pent up feeling he had towards this man until his voice was hoarse, until he could only make distressed noises as he tried to simply breathe.

“A-And I don’t need you anymore, I’m, I’m proud of who I am, I’m Evan-freaking-Sabahnur!” He finished, wheezing a little as he did so, waves of feelings hitting in quick succession.

Fantomex once again broke the silence. They were making a scene. “You’ve changed, Evan.” He started, leaning in a little closer. “This “family” has changed you. I can see more and more of him in you now than I ever did. You *need* me, Evan.” The accented voice said, almost patronising as his words acted like daggers. “I can stop you from being Apocalypse. Not Deadpool, not Cable, not your petit boyfriend. Me.”

Stone cold silence.

A few ragged breaths, but silence. The boy was tripping over his words, heading towards the alley he needed to go down, spluttering and wheezing, aching all over, especially from the side of his face. 

“Screw you, Charlie Cluster.” Evan squeaked, earning yet another patronising sound from his once idol. 

“What was that?” The weapon queried, miming a listening action, as if cupping an ear that was hidden by the helmet.

Clearing his throat, Evan tried again, as he got ready to run. He would never be happy with his parting words as he ran. Even as he collapsed on the broken couch a few moments later in the dark, time slowed by attempting to jam a key in a lock, he’d regret his words, brain fuzzy with what felt like static.

What were those parting words to that man? The man that had built such a life for one Evan Sabahnur yet ruined so much too? Four simple words, four things Evan never expected to say.

“Fuck you, Charlie Cluster.”


End file.
